


A Matter Of Perspective

by LananiA3O



Series: Batfam Week - Arkham-verse [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Drinking, Gen, PTSD, Paraplegia, Smoking, Swearing, references to past torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-15 00:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11219478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O
Summary: Sometimes miracles do happen. In this case, the miracle of all four of them managing to get away from Gotham on a well-deserved vacation for a week, and Tim will be damned if he will let the memory of a clown and a handful of paparazzi spoil it.





	A Matter Of Perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loxare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxare/gifts).



> Batfam Week Day 5: Paparazzi. Aka “batkids on vacation”. Set a little more than a year and a half after Batman: Arkham Knight, at which point Bruce has returned to Gotham as the vigilante ‘Ghost’, the batfam knows he’s still alive and has some contact with him, and Jason’s been working along the other batkids for almost a year. Post ‘Ill Weeds Grow Apace’, for those who read my stuff, but there are no spoilers in here.  
> This chapter was inspired by a vacation I took in early 2017. Most of the scenes take place in locations I have actually visited. You can find photos of them on my blog over here:  
> http://lananiscorner.tumblr.com/search/A+Matter+of+Perspective
> 
> Gifted to Loxare, whose analytical eye has caught so many little intricacies and continuity links in my stories it’s honestly kind of scary. I cannot possibly think of a more fitting person to gift master detective Tim’s chapter to. Thank you for all your insightful comments!

Sometimes, all the stars aligned, rainbows formed over a field of four-leaved clovers littered with horse shoes, and miracles actually happened. As far as Tim was concerned, he was witness to a miracle in progress.

Incidentally, it all started with a particularly bad Friday night on patrol.

The middle of May – May, 12th in this case – was usually the time when Gotham started to look just a little brighter, warmer, and friendlier, but this year, it seemed someone had pissed in the cups of every deity of good fortune. It was a dreary, miserable night, full of harsh rain and even periods of hail, which had been less than helpful in Robin’s attempt to take out a new animal trafficking operation that had quickly turned out to be a weapon smuggling operation, when one of the idiots carrying the crates had accidentally left his almost-finished, glimmering cigarette on one of the boxes to help his colleagues with a slammed door. The little trickles of hot ash had been enough to set off whatever crazy new explosive they had been ferrying into Gotham, blowing up the pier-side warehouse, knocking Tim into the nearest wall, and almost killing his eardrums in the process. He had barely been able to hear Barb through the ringing in his ear canal, but what he had been able to make out were the words ‘Clock Tower’, ‘return’ and ‘now’. After a quick analysis of the scene – the warehouse was simply gone and he could not make out a single intact skeleton, much less a single heartbeat through his cowl vision – Tim had decided not to argue and call it a night.

To his surprise, he was not the first one to return to the roost. As a matter of fact, he was the last.

Dick looked wretchedly miserable, holding a pack of ice to a thick wrap of bandages where the side of his cowl should have been, while Barbara was picking shards of glass out of his thigh with a pair of pincers. Judging from the fact that she had managed to fill half a salad bowl with them already, Tim could estimate that Dick had not just arrived a minute ago.

“Collapsed skyscraper,” Barb explained with a slight shrug as she dabbed a disinfectant-trenched cloth to one of the deeper cuts. He was not able to hear her, but every once in a while, knowing how to read lips actually paid off. He informed her that he was just going to go and get changed, before turning around and walking straight into Red Hood, still in full, if rather battered, armor and gear. He managed to voice all of three syllables before Jason grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and mustered him from head to toe. The gratitude Tim felt at watching him open his helmet vanished at the sight of Jason’s thoroughly pissed off scowl.

“Vacant stare, mildly slurred speech, and no in-door voice. You’ve got a concussion, Timbers. Sit down. Now.”

He wanted to argue, but one look at the uncompromising stare Barb gave him was enough to convince him otherwise. This was not a battle he would be able to win, at least not without spending the next week sleeping on the couch. He was also not going to bolster Dick in his misguidedly optimistic believe that everything was fine and they could still go back to work for another hour or two. With a deep sigh, Tim sat down next to Dick on the bed-turned-couch and swallowed the painkillers Jason handed to him.

Barb finished tending to Dick’s injuries, before letting her head fall back against the back rest of her chair and doing a quick turn in what Tim had once jokingly referred to as ‘ballet on wheels’.

“I need a vacation, guys.”

“God, yes!” Dick agreed immediately. “Somewhere warm and sunny and exotic. Just for a couple of days. Maybe a week...” He mirrored Barbara’s own posture and ended up looking at the ceiling as if it were made of diamonds.

Tim could not blame him. It was a mutual feeling. “I want a hot beach and a cold drink.”

“Ask Bruce,” Barb jokingly suggested. “Maybe he will give you the address of whatever little island paradise he was getting a tan on after his unmasking.”

“I can just imagine that conversation,” Tim mused over his half-finished glass of water, before doing his best mocking Batman impression. _“You want to use my top secret, last-resort hideout for a family vacation?!”_

“Tim, you’re a genius!” Even despite the ringing in his ears, Tim flinched at the sudden volume spike of Dick’s voice. His brother was now perched on the couch, flicking excited glances from one sibling to the next, while Jason gave Dick a stare that screamed bloody murder. “Let’s do it! You, me, Jason, and Barb – we could all go together! You know... big sibling bonding trip to the tropics! It will be awesome!”

“Over my dead body.”

If Jason was worried about the reaction his refusal might cause, he did not show it. Meanwhile, Barb tried valiantly to mitigate Dick’s horrified look with strict pragmatism.

“If we all leave, who is going to look after Gotham? And Blüdhaven?”

“Bruce,” Jason answered in a tone that oozed contempt. “Fucker always claims he can do everything by himself – well, let him prove it! He can have the damn city for a week for all that I care.”

“I thought you just said you didn’t want to come along?”

“I don’t. And I won’t. But I wouldn’t mind leaving the city for a day or two.” He gave a long, hard look at the calendar pinned to the fridge, followed by just the slightest shudder. “Almost about time, too.”

Tim did not even need to look at the calendar to know why. Neither did Barb or Dick, judging from the glum looks on their faces. May 21st, the day Joker had captured Jason all those years ago, had been a painful day for everyone ever since. Tim could only imagine how utterly horrifying and nightmarish it was for Jason.

“Barb, can you hand me my notebook and my credit card, please?” He accepted the laptop with a quick nod and brought up the price tracking software his parents had always used to book their own lavish vacations in God-knew-where, while he had been stuck in boarding school. “So, where do you guys want to go?”

“Somewhere tropical, with a nice beach?” Dick suggested not at all helpfully.

“How about Mexico?” Barb asked over a glass of fresh orange juice. “It’s not too far from here, it’s got beautiful beaches, we all speak the language, and I would really love to see Chichen Itza... if possible.”

 _If possible in a wheelchair_ , Tim thought sourly. According to everyone he and Barb had talked to so far, Central America was not exactly the most accessible place for paraplegics.

“Walkways at Chichén Itzá are mostly flat as a pancake. You’ll be fine.” When his words were met with nothing but silence and shocked stares, another scowl crawled onto Jason’s face. “What? Never been there myself, but one of my guys used to work there. Would never shut the fuck up about it either.”

“Chichen Itza...” Tim brought up the map in another tab. “Closest international airport would be... Cancún. They should have wheelchair accessible hotels there, too, right? I mean, it’s a pretty big city.”

“It’s also party central,” Jason lobbed back at him. “You wanna have a relaxing time instead of getting drunk with a bunch of obnoxious, American kids fresh over twenty-one, then go to Tulum. Same state, same coast. A lot quieter. Beautiful beach-side ruins, too. I heard.”

Dick’s lips turned into a devious grin. “Damn, Jay... Here I thought you weren’t coming with us.”

“I’m not,” Jason insisted.

“And may I remind you that _you’re_ barely over twenty-one yourself?”

“You may go and fuck yourself,” Jason sneered at him as he tossed his empty soda can into the bin on the other side of the room with pinpoint accuracy. Tim frowned.

“Pipe down, guys, okay? No fighting in the Tower, remember?” He entered the relevant data into the software and watched the numbers come in. Flights, accommodation, car rentals... thank God money wasn’t a problem for any of them. At least not in the conventional meaning of the word ‘problem’.

He had already been entering their names and birth dates for the flight registration details for four first class seats when an annoying little ad on the side popped up. It was something or another about a girl Dick had met at his latest modeling gig. There was nothing going on there, Tim knew. Dick could take his secret identity all the way to the grave, but personal status updates? A new job? A new apartment? A new girlfriend? Tim would have been surprised not to hear about it within five minutes. No, this girl was of no significance to Dick in any way, shape or form, yet somehow, one single picture of him handing her a cup of coffee with a dreamy smile had been enough to launch an avalanche of articles about the latest escapades of Blüdhaven’s most eligible bachelor.

Perhaps Jason was on to something with his idea of not heading for the typical touristy spots. They’d be swarmed by cameras before they even got to the hotel.

In the end, he found a flight that connected directly from Gotham City International to Cancún on May 18th and returned, also directly, on the 24th. Finding a wheelchair accessible hotel was a tiresome task that had become second nature to both him and Barb, and he was both surprised and relieved to find that all the truly high-end places effectively disqualified themselves. _Good_ , Tim thought. He didn’t want to go to a typical paparazzi spot anyway.

Instead, he finally found what he had been looking for in a small cluster of eco-friendly cabins a few miles north of Tulum, connected to the shared facilities and the main road by a steady path of wooden boards, and just a hundred feet from the shoreline. He rented three of the five cabins – one for Jason, one for Dick, and one for Barb and himself – and waited for the transaction to clear. In the meantime, the e-tickets had arrived and the printer on the other side of the room came to life with a loud beep. Tim took another swig from his own glass of water before retrieving the tickets and handing them out one by one.

“18th to 24th, direct flights, first class...” Dick accepted the ticket with a bright smile and an excited cheer.

“... and three beachside cabins far off the noisy tourist track...” He would have given his arm to put half of Dick’s joy on Jason instead. His younger brother plucked the ticket from his hands like it was dripping poison. “Listen, Jason, you don’t owe us anything. If May 18th comes and you still don’t feel like going, by all means, stay here or go somewhere else. No one’s going to blame you, but...” It was a risky move, but sometimes you just had to trust your gut. With a slight bite to his lip, Tim put his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “... if you do decide you want to join us after all, we’d be delighted to have you.”

***

“So... I guess Jason’s not coming along after all.”

Dick sounded positively crushed, and Tim could not bring himself to disagree, even though his hopes hadn’t been high since the very beginning, It was quarter to seven on a rare, beautiful, sunny morning in Gotham. The plane was about to leave in ten minutes. He was headed for one week of glorious sun, beaches, and temple-hopping with the woman of his dreams and his older brother. The first class seats on the flight left nothing to be desired. They had not even had to argue with the flight crew to have Barb’s wheelchair stored in the overhead compartment, rather than having it taken back to the check-in storage. The champagne they had been given upon sitting down tasted great and the in-flight entertainment actually looked relatively decent. There really should not have been anything to complain about.

Except one of them was not here. Jason was not here.

Until he suddenly was.

First, there was a heavy thump on the spacious seat in front of Barb and just opposite of Dick, which turned out to originate from a gray, camouflage-patterned trekking backpack. He followed the profile of its owner all the way up to the white strand on the left side of his hair line and felt his jaw drop.

“Jason?!”

“No, I’m a very late Easter bunny,” Jason growled back at him as he stored his backpack in the overhead locker and slammed the cover shut. He looked like hell and sounded worse. “And spare me the happy-sappy speech. This flight’s gonna take six hours and I’m planning to sleep through all of it.”

“Like you ever sleep for a straight six hours.” To his credit, Dick clasped his mouth shut with a quick, muttered ‘I’m sorry’ immediately.

Thankfully, Barb reacted quickly by instantly and graciously picking up the ball he had just dropped. “We’re happy you made it, Jason. Just in time, too.”

Fittingly enough, the speaker system came on-line, informing all passengers to strap down for departure. Of course, it wouldn’t have been first class without someone from the crew coming by to check on them immediately. The stewardess – Tim guessed she must have been new on the job and probably no older than twenty-two – approached Jason with a glass of champagne and a beaming smile that turned to open shock the moment he turned around to her. Tim cringed hard. He was not convinced that watching people react so negatively to any of Jason’s scars was ever going to get any less painful.

Jason, despite the tension that was clear throughout his body to anyone with an education in non-verbal clues that was worth a damn, merely grabbed the glass, downed it in one gulp, and handed it back to her, before dropping into his seat, fastening his belt, and burrowing his face in his jacket.

Tim gave a deep sigh. _Crisis averted_. Or at least so he thought.

It happened halfway through the flight. Jason was sound asleep, or at least looked like it, Barb was entranced by an e-book, which meant disturbing her would have bordered on suicide, and Dick looked perfectly lost to the world, enchanted by an Italian indie movie that he was sure to rave on about for hours later. He had half-buried himself under his blankets, clearly just about as tired as Jason and probably having spent every minute before sunrise on patrol as well, with his hair sticking up in all kinds of odd, shaggy angles and his tray littered with high-sugar milkshakes. The hideous  monstrosity of a blue-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt he was wearing in celebration of their vacation was only the icing on the cake. Right now, a picture of grace and style he was not.

The first thing Tim heard was the sound of light giggling and the grating vocal fry at five o’clock. The second was the distinct sound of a smartphone shutter closing. He turned his head just enough to spy them out the corner of his eye, leaning on the backrest of another seat further to the right. Now that his attention was focused, the words were hard to miss.

“Oh my god, that’s really him!”

“You sure, Stella?”

“Yeah, I am! That’s Dick Grayson! You know, Bruce Wayne’s son? Fashion model? Hottest frickin’ guy in Gotham? This is totally insane! Imma have to tweet this, like, right now!”

Tim took a deep breath and forced the frustration that was starting to bubble up inside him back down.

As his parents had explained to him once, there were four different types of paparazzi. These girls were very clearly mosquitoes: harmless at first glance, annoying at the second, and potentially lastingly harmful, if you did not get rid of them quickly. In this case, he could only imagine what kind of nastiness Dick would have to suffer from his agent and the press alike if those clucking hens got any better an angle.

With a quick sigh, Tim paused his in-flight documentary and got up. He was faintly aware of Barb looking up from her e-book, and he gave her a quick pat on the shoulder to let her know that he had this under control. The two girls, who had steadily raised their voices to a volume that was sure to draw attention from either Dick or – heaven forbid – Jason any minute, were just debating which crappy instagram filter to slap onto their masterpieces of photography when he approached them. Judging from the looks some of the other nearby passengers cast the girls, he was about to do half the first class section a favor.

“Sorry to interrupt you, ladies, but you know, the polite thing would be to _ask_ someone if you may take their picture _before_ you actually take their picture, right?”

“What the hell do you care?” The blonde – _fake blonde_ , Tim corrected himself – shot him an ugly look. “This is, like, none of your business, jerk.”

“Exactly,” ‘Stella’ agreed. “None of your business. And this is America. I can take pictures of whatever I want anytime I want!”

“He’s my brother,” Tim answered with the slightest growl to his voice and the effect was almost immediate. It was not enough to be hostile, but certainly enough for a warning, and it elicited a slight flinch from both of them. “That makes it my business. Either walk up to him and ask him for a picture, or keep your fangirling to yourselves, because we may still be in American airspace, but your personal freedom ends when it goes into somebody else’s eyes or ears, and nobody in this cabin paid a thousands of dollars for this flight just to hear the two of you yapping at max volume. You are being rude and obnoxious.”

To his surprise, Stella actually had the decency to look slightly ashamed. Her BFF clearly had no such troubles.

“You can’t talk to me like that! Do you know who you’re talking to? My dad owns half the automotive industry in all of New Jersey!”

Tim felt the grin come to his face practically automatically. “Oh yeah? _I’m_ co-owner of _Wayne Enterprises_ and sole owner of Drake Industries. That phone you’re using? My company. Half the tech on this plane? My company. You sure you want to play the ‘my daddy is richer than yours, game’?”

“Excuse me, sir...” It was the head of the flight crew who approached them. ‘Sharon’, as her name tag read, had the most painfully fake smile he had ever seen plastered on her lips. “Is something the matter?”

“These two ladies here,” Tim gestured at the girls, “were being loud, obnoxious and disrespectful to my brother’s privacy. I kindly asked them to turn it down a bit and show some class.”

“We were not!”

“Yes, you were!” The little old lady who raised her head at them was seated just behind the girls, and she sneered at Stella and her friend as if she were watching someone doing cartwheels down the first class aisle in sewage-covered clothes taken straight from Gotham’s gutters. “You were being loud, rude, and disrespectful, and if your parents knew you were behaving like this in public, they would be ashamed of you.” She squinted at both of them, mustering them from head to toe, before scoffing in disgust. “Although maybe that is why your daddies paid for this flight – so they could finally put a few thousand miles between you and themselves.”

“I concur,” another passenger said. The fine business suit assured Tim that this man was definitely not going on this trip for the escapades of spoiled, self-centered rich kids. “I didn’t pay thousands of dollars for a first class trip to listen to some whining, entitled teenager.”

Tim watched in quiet satisfaction as Stella sunk back into her seat, her face red as a tomato as she tried to shrink into the cushions as far as possible. Her friend was less convinced, retreating inch by inch with a look on her face that screamed bloody murder.

“You are going to regret this! My dad’s gonna sue you into the next century!”

“He can try,” Tim answered with a slight shrug. He made sure to thank both the elderly lady and the man in the suit for their support before returning to his own seat.

Barb grinned at him over a cup of fresh tomato juice. “You want me to hack and wipe her phone?”

“Can you put a timer on it?” Tim rolled his shoulders as he settled down once more. “If her phone factory-resets now, she’ll know who it was. If we leave it until about half an hour after touchdown, not so much.”

The devious grin he got in return was a silent ‘yes’. From the seat in front of her, two glacier blue eyes stared at him with an intensity that was nothing short of disturbing. Nobody with their eyes half-closed should look that alert.

“Fuck up the OS while you’re at it. I was ready to punch her in the face.”

That drew a quick, albeit sleepy laugh from the walking fashion disaster that had been the unwilling instigator of the entire charade. “I love you, too. All three of you.”

***

The flight arrived on time, just past noon. Getting off the plane was one of those few times when having someone with a disability in your group was actually an advantage. Barb was the first person to be off the plane and through passport control, followed quickly by Jason and Dick, who both could not seem to be able to wait to get out of the airport, albeit probably for different reasons. Tim checked all their seats quickly, to make sure nothing had been left behind, before catching up and taking the lead. He was the one with the car rental reservations after all.

The first slap in the face upon leaving the arrivals lounge was the sheer heat they had navigated into. The over-sized, digital clock mounted to a nearby pillar had a temperature display on it was well, and Tim was not surprised to see it read thirty-one degrees Celsius. _Eighty-eight degrees Fahrenheit_. He was starting to regret their decision to head for the tropics, now that his shirt was starting to cling to his back like an over-indulged gold-digger at a gala. Dick clearly had no such problems, quickly claiming a spot in the sunlight just outside the rental booth, and Jason – despite being the only one dressed in long shirt and pants and despite remaining in the shadows – displayed the same gradual decrease in physical tension that Tim and Barb usually saw when their cats curled up by the glass terrace.

Babs seemed to have read his mind. “Regrets about the choice of locale?”

“Only until we get to the beach,” Tim replied with a grin as the person in front of him left with the keys to their car and the attendant called him up.

The second slap was the reservation.

“What do you mean ‘we don’t have a registration under your name’?” He must have misunderstood. Tim had the receipts right there and he handed them over quickly. The attendant shook her head as she looked up the names and numbers, muttering to her colleague in Mexican Spanish at two-hundred miles per hour. Suddenly, he wished Gotham had more international crime lords. Standard Spanish class at Brentwood was clearly not good enough for this. When the attendant finally got back to him ten minutes later, her English standard phrases were clearly not enough to express the complexity of the situation. With a frustrated sigh, Tim switched to Spanish.

“Vale, si no tiene nuestro reserva, quizás podamos coger otro coche?”

He knew he had done something horribly wrong when the woman in front of him blinked like a deer in the headlights for a second, then broke into amused giggles. To his right, Jason face-palmed.

“Dear fucking god, step aside before you hurt yourself.” Jason pushed him aside without waiting for feedback, walked up to the counter, and started firing off a wall of text in fluent Spanish that had Tim blinking in bewilderment. Somehow, the language switch had made Jason’s voice drop four notes. He sounded rougher, older, and almost as if he had never spoken any other language in his life.

Two minutes later, he slid over his driver’s license and passport in exchange for a set of fresh lease papers. The trade back included a set of shiny keys with a label reading ‘MV5’ dangling from the ring. The instant he had turned around, Jason switched back to English.

“There you go. They double-booked the car, but since they refuse to refund the money, we now have a replacement. Let’s go.”

He marched off without a reply and by the time Tim caught up with him, he was already busy inspecting the minivan they had been given with critical eyes. He waited until Jason had finished his round and gave a quick look around to ensure no one was watching, before bracing for what was likely to be a painful confrontation.

“You know, you could have let me sign the lease. That’s my money they took.”

“Have you ever driven any kind of vehicle on a Mexican road?” The silence Tim gave him in return was rewarded with a quick eye roll. “Didn’t think so. Well, I have. Trust me. You’ll thank me later.”

“Think of it this way,” Barb told him with a quick smile, “if Jason is driving, you’ll have all the time in the world to take pictures of the beautiful Mexican landscape.”

She did have a point there. Tim eyed the backpack that hung from Barb’s wheelchair and contained his beloved Nikon with a sudden longing. Taking pictures of something other than concrete jungles was one of the things he had been looking forward to the most ever since he had bought the tickets.

“Alright then,” Tim finally relented and moved to put their bags in the trunk of the car. The last thing to go in was Barb’s wheelchair, folded and secured, right after she had wriggled into her seat behind Jason. Dick joined her on the backseat, while Tim took his place in the front, one eye one the map on his phone – another reason he was happy to be rich, because ten dollars for one megabyte was really going to hurt like hell when relying on GPS – and the other on Jason’s hands as he started up the car. “Alright then, you drive. But I’m still calling the shots for the accommodation.”

Jason frowned. “Then let’s hope this time you won’t end up asking someone if we could _fuck_ another car.”

***

Jason was never going to let him live this down, Tim thought glumly as he talked to the receptionist in the lobby of the resort. Neither was Dick. They were both waiting just a few feet to his left, independently trying not to smirk as they waited for him to work through the reservation and payment talks. In the meantime, Barbara had gone off to inspect the premises, with one of the employees showing her the way to the dining room and common areas, undoubtedly checking ease of wheelchair access, as well as wifi strength and overall security.

Thank God everything went smoothly this time! He had had enough humiliation for one day.

The cabins, though very bare bones with each containing nothing more than a spacious bed, a small bedside cabinet and a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, a tiny shower, and ridiculous water pressure, were tidy, clean, and – most importantly – easily accessible. Even the perfect sea view couldn’t beat the smile on Barb’s face and that alone was good enough for Tim.

This was going to be a good vacation.

***

They spent the rest of the afternoon on the private stretch of beach, with Tim and Dick alternating between short bouts of beach volleyball and dips in the sea, while Jason and Barb hogged the only shadowy spot on the sand, snacking on plantain chips and coconut water from a nearby corner store, and poring over travel guides and road maps. The good news was that Jason seemed to have managed to deal with the food paranoia Joker had given him in his fifteen months imprisoned beneath the Asylum and was at least slowly eating something he had not prepared himself. The bad news was that he was eying the azure blue waves with an undeniable longing, yet made not a single move to get any closer to them.

“Come on, guys!” Dick finally tried with a bright smile, dripping from head to toe from his latest swim. “The water is absolutely perfect! What are you two waiting for?”

“For my spinal damage to magically repair itself,” Barb lobbed back at him without any bitterness. She knew where this was coming from and where it was going.

“And I’m keeping her company,” Jason added. “Besides, if I’m gonna drive you guys to Chichén Itzá tomorrow at ass o’clock in the morning, I want to know where the fuck I’m going, and these huts don’t have electricity after nine.”

It was an excuse, albeit a good, plausible one. Tim knew it. Barb knew it. Judging from the way his smile faded, Dick knew it as well. Joker’s torture had left a thousand marks on Jason’s body. He had been freaked out enough when his own family had discovered them. Tim could only imagine what the idea of someone else seeing them, even just by sheer accident, had to be like for Jason.

“You know we’re the only ones on this beach right n—“

“I don’t care if we’re the last people on the fucking planet!” Jason snapped back, before tossing Dick a towel from the pile they had stacked up. “Now dry yourself off and put on some sunscreen. You’ll be red like a lobster before this week is over.”

For once, Dick chose not to argue and Tim was grateful for that. This battle was lost for today. _Maybe tomorrow..._

They remained at the beach until sundown, deciding routes and plans for the next few days, before heading off to a restaurant in the town proper that had been recommended by the staff of their resort. The garlic octopus was sublime; the desert – Neapolitan flan – was to die for. By the time they were back in their cabins, Tim was more than happy to call it a day. To his left, Barb’s lips curled into a hesitant smile.

“So, do you think we’ll get through this without Jason punching Dick in the face or Dick tackle-hugging Jason? Whichever comes first?”

“I don’t know if we will,” Tim grinned back at her. “But if and when we get there, I’ll be sure to take pictures.”

***

They departed early the next morning, stopping by the resort’s common room for just a few minutes to enjoy a traditional breakfast of quesadillas and mixed fruits, before hitting the street just past sunrise. It felt strange, reversing years of absurd sleeping schedules all of a sudden. Even though he had slept for a full eight hours, Tim felt tired and weary, and the two cups of coffee he had to wake up did not help. Dick clearly had no such problems, returning to full hamster-on-caffeine mode as soon as he had downed his cups, and Tim muttered his resentment into his mug as he swallowed the last few sips.

The road to Chichen Itza – they had decided to get the largest temple out of the way first – was almost empty at this hour. In between picking at his own sunburn – _I told you to put on more sunscreen_ , Barb had scolded him at least half a dozen times – and marveling at the unfairness of Dick’s perfect bronze tan, Tim was glad they were going for the flattest temple with the least shade first.

“I just can’t believe you’re not red as a lobster,” Tim argued over the persistent itching and slight burning of his right shoulder. “How do you even—you’re the palest one of all of us, Dick!”

The face Dick gave him was halfway between a scowl and smirk. “First of all, the palest one among us is definitely Jason, and he will continue to be the palest unless we get him to ditch the sunscreen and get out of the shadow at some point.”

“ _He_ has no interest in turning into lobster,” Jason replied off-handedly. “And _he_ is also driving the car, so watch what you’re saying. Don’t think I won’t ditch you by the side of the road and leave you there until we come back, if you push me.”

“And secondly,” Dick continued, wisely dismissing whatever cheeky remark he had had ready, “you can blame my dad for the tan. He was half Romani and I guess I just got some of that from him. We’re pale as milk, but you give me five minutes under the sun and – bam – instant tan.”

“Which just proves that you boys need to get out more when we’re back home,” Barb argued. “You could all need some vitamin D.”

Whatever Dick was flinging back at her in return, Tim didn’t hear it. Instead, he reached for his camera and decided to snap a few more shots of the landscape as they headed northwest. Photography had always been one of his passions, even though it had taken a backseat to his role as Robin over the last few years. He was looking forward to reconnecting with his old habits throughout this week.

Two hours and a half later, the west entrance to the site finally loomed in front of them. This time, Tim did not argue as Barbara handed him the sunscreen. The line at the entrance was thankfully small and only half an hour later, the first ruins were right in front of them. So were the hawkers.

“One dollar! Hola, señor! Only one dollar for the lady! Everything one dollar! You want souvenir to take home? Only one dollar, right here!”

“One dollar to _look_ at,” Jason muttered through clenched teeth. “Don’t let these guys rip you off. Just ignore them.”

That was advice Tim was happy to follow. He was also more than happy to follow Barbara as she led the way, going from ruin to ruin and explaining each and every single one in enough detail to make some of the nearby tour guides raise eyebrows at her. Tim could not blame her. Chances were she had read some exhaustive guide book about the temple at some point – because, honestly, what had Barbara not read at this point – and her eidetic memory was now going into full-blown information dispersal mode. If Dick’s grin and Jason’s quick eye rolls were anything to go by, he was not the only one who found it both mildly annoying and yet fascinatingly endearing.

Unfortunately, not every display of obsessive behavior managed to be both.

They had just finished their tour of the ball court and the main pyramid and were headed down the slightly tricky, rocks-and-roots-covered path to the cenote when Tim spotted the first of them.

This time, it was not some silly girl with a smartphone camera. Tim had spent enough time in photography to recognize the sound of different shutters, and this was definitely high-end equipment. His eyes scanned the surrounding area quickly. He counted not just one, or two, but four different ‘visitors’ whose cameras were far too high quality and who were behaving far too inconspicuously to be there for sightseeing only. His suspicion was confirmed when three of them were still trailing them by the time they reached the sacred sink hole.

“We have a shadow,” Dick remarked quietly.

“Three,” Tim corrected. “And as long as they don’t get in our faces, I suggest we just ignore them.” It would be for the best. These guys were clearly of the ‘cougar’ variety of paparazzi: patiently waiting in hiding in popular hotspots, then pouncing as soon as they found a target. “I doubt any of them are going to follow us once we’re out of here. Not when this is a World Heritage site and there are celebrities coming in and out of here every day.”

Of course, that did not mean they would not follow them throughout the rest of Chichen Itza. As a matter of fact, by the time they had reached the other end of the site, with the ruins of the observatory and the church, two more leeches had joined the swarm. Only when they had finally returned the way they had come and taken their seats in the car again did most of them leave. Jason hit the gas the moment everyone was strapped down.

“If this is how this entire trip’s going to be, I’m gonna lock myself up in that cabin for the next five days.”

“I highly doubt it,” Tim said. “And if it is any consolation, I’m pretty sure those are the most paparazzi we’ll see this week. Chichen Itza _is_ the most famous ruin in the Yucatan peninsula.”

To his left, Jason gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “Oh, you sweet summer child...”

They continued their journey onwards to the Cenote Maya, just east of Chichen Itza and Valladolid. It was not the most impressive, nor the most well-known of Yucatan’s sink holes by far, but that had not mattered when they had drawn up their plans. What had mattered was that it was one of the few cenotes that were wheelchair-accessible. Tim eyed his camera longingly as he wolfed down one of the sandwiches Jason and Barb had prepared for them in the morning.

“I’m still kind of bummed that I won’t be able to take the camera. Cenotes are supposed to be really beautiful, with super-clear water.”

“Well, always look on the bright side,” Barbara offered before taking a bite of her own. “If no one can bring any cameras or not even a smartphone in there, at least we don’t have to worry about the paparazzi.”

“And besides,” Dick added through a mouthful, “... no picture can replace reality. Even if you can’t snap a photo of it, you’ll have the memory of this place forever.”

“Well, at least until you come down with Alzheimer’s,” Jason sneered at him, clearly not impressed with Dick’s romanticized sappiness.

Tim smiled as he finished his sandwich. Watching the two of them bicker at each other felt strangely soothing, even though he knew that they were capable of turning it into a fight of life and death any minute now. It felt... almost normal. Like a real, normal family.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come along, Jason?”

“Yes. I’m not gonna go for a swim anyway, and someone should watch over all our stuff while you guys are in there.”

Another convenient excuse. Tim swallowed the remark that was threatening to crawl onto his tongue and wiped his mouth clean with a napkin. “Let’s go then.”

As promised by the tour sites they had looked at, the place was technically wheelchair-accessible. Technically.

Dick raised an eyebrow at the sight of the narrow wooden ramps and bridges that led from the entrance and the diving and snorkel equipment rental down to the water. “You sure you want to do this, Barb?”

The look of indignation on her face was priceless. “No, Dick, I want to turn around, go back to the car and cry bitter tears while Jason plans to punch both of you in the face for bringing me here.” With one quick stretch of her fingers, Barb put her hands to the wheel. “Watch and learn, Dickie.”

And watch they did. The walkways were narrow, Tim had to admit, but to Barbara her wheelchair might as well have been part of her body and Batgirl had perfect spatial awareness. She navigated the maze of ramps and bridges faster than a rat would a labyrinth in search for the piece of cheese. An attendant was waiting by the bottom of the ramp, ready to take her chair aside together with all her other belongings. Without the additional hazard that the waves of the open sea provided, Barb swam like a fish in the clear water of the cenote.

Maybe Dick had been right. Tim would not need the camera. He would easily remember this moment until the day he died.

***

The rest of their Friday passed quickly after that. The return to Tulum proved to be just as uneventful as the departure had been. They went back to the same restaurant – why risk food poisoning elsewhere, if there were still another dozen items on the menu to go through – before retreating back into the resort.

This time, when he woke up half an hour before sunrise, he felt less tired and the sunburn no longer hurt. On the downside, it had now started to peel and itch. Tim scowled at the sight of his patchwork shoulder in the mirror.

“Please tell me there’s more shade where we’re going this time...”

Barb shot him a quick smile while handing him a tube of sunscreen. “There had better be. Coba’s supposed to be in the middle of the jungle.”

***

Coba really was in the middle of the jungle. Tim was tempted to sigh in relief until he realized the full implication of said fact. How ironic that yesterday he had scolded Dick for this.

“Barb, that looks like a lot of roots and gravel on those paths. Are you sure you don’t want to—“

“No.”

“Do you have to put up with this every day?” Jason raised an eyebrow at her.

“Not usually from _them_ ,” Barb answered, before turning to Dick and Tim again. “Look, guys, I appreciate you worrying about me, and that’s perfectly fine because, yes, this is the first time I’m taking my wheelchair through a jungle, but if I need your help, I’ll just say so, okay? I know that’s a hard concept to grasp for the sons of stoicism incarnate, but just trust me on this, alright?”

She didn’t wait for the reply, instead heading off to the ticket booth with Jason fast on her heels. To his right, Dick shrugged his shoulders woefully.

“Ah, our little Babs and Jay! Look at them go!”

“Barb’s got six months on you and almost three years on me, Dick,” Tim replied. “I think if either one of us ever calls her ‘little’ to her face, we’ll be singing the soprano for the rest of the week.”

“Still better than baby Jaybird.” Dick grinned. “He _is_ actually younger than both of us and he’d have our heads for pointing it out.”

Unfortunately, it was hard to argue with that. Tim sighed as he made his way to the ticket counter and collected his tickets from their two siblings. It was strange how alike the two of them could sometimes be, despite the difference in age, gender, social background, and general life experiences. There had always been a certain understanding, a certain connection between Barb and Jason that had made them brother and sister long before the adoption had come through and much longer before Barb had married into the family.

Watching them explore the smaller sites now, utterly quiet except for Barb’s occasional narration of facts and trivia about the various ruins they were passing by, was refreshing and eye-opening at the same time. The smaller the group, the more comfortable Jason felt, and in a group of two, with only Barbara for companionship, he looked about as comfortable as he was ever going to get. Barb herself seemed to be engrossed by his utter nonchalance towards her disability and all it entailed, as well as his attentive silence. He was starting to understand why she had used to describe him as ‘a book of seven seals’ in every way possible.

“So, Dick,” he turned to his older brother, who was busy skipping from one over-sized tropical tree root to the other. “Wanna explore these ruins and snap some good pictures?”

“Only if they’ve got one of us in it,” Dick grinned back at him. That too was easy to forget. Dick was the kind of person who could scoff at a vacation picture gallery of a thousand masterpieces and go ‘meh’ without batting an eye, if there were no people in it. “Unless you came here to shoot a documentary.”

“No, I didn’t.” With a quick smile, Tim adjusted the filters on his camera and started searching for good photo-ops in the ruins they had just arrived at – another ball court like the one in Chichen, only smaller. “Get your supermodel game on, Dickie. This is going to be great!”

True to form, Dick almost instantly slipped into the role he had occupied over the last few months. Minus the agents. And the lighting. And the make-up. The smiles came natural this time, and Tim made sure to keep the posing instructions to a minimum. By the time Dick started imitating the figures in the stone carvings while making the most ridiculous faces ever, Tim finally gave up on whatever little shred of professionalism had been clinging to this exercise. Only two-hundred pictures and forty minutes later did they finally catch up with Jason and Barb.

They were waiting in the shadows of the tree line surrounding the _castillo_ , the main pyramid of the Nohoch Mul group and the largest ruin in the Coba complex. Troves of tourists in bright gloving were ascending the steep steps, sometimes on all fours, many of them cursing the pyramid’s builders with a passion that transcended languages.

“Doesn’t even look that high,” Dick mused as he mustered the building while rocking back and forth on his heels. “That’s about... what... a hundred and fifty feet?”

“A hundred and thirty-eight,” Barb corrected. Her own eyes were fixated on the top of the pyramid in a mixture of admiration and longing. “It’s one of the tallest on the entire peninsula and the only one you’re still allowed to climb. Mind you, one day one of these touristy idiots is bound to break their necks and force them to close it down like Chichen Itza’s pyramid.”

“Well, best get to it now then, shall we?” Dick gave Tim a bright grin. “Sounds like the perfect photo-op to me.”

Barb nodded. “Yeah. Supposedly you can see the entire jungle from the top.”

“Supposedly?” Jason scoffed at that. “I don’t believe it until I see it and neither should you.”

“Nice idea,” Barb gestured at her legs, “but remember who you’re talking to? I mean... I could drag myself up there, no problem, but I’m pretty sure at least one of the park attendants here would disagree with that, and I don’t want to cause a scene here.”

“I do remember. And I’m not letting you sit down here, looking like an abandoned puppy, while these two idiots climb the damn thing and take selfies.” To Tim’s surprise, Jason knelt down in front of her wheelchair, propping up his arms against his waist in an unmistakable gesture. “C’mon, Babs. Let’s go.”

“Jason, your shoulders and back—“

“Will be fine,” Jason cut her off. “You know what we put ourselves through every night. You think a piggy back carry up a hundred and thirty-eight feet pyramid is gonna hurt me? Don’t make me laugh!”

“Jason, it’s really nice of you to... but I can’t—“

“Do you want to see across the top of the jungle or do you not?”

The exasperation was clear in Jason’s voice, but there was none of the hostility that often accompanied it. To his right, Dick smiled softly.

“Jason’s right, Barb. He can carry you up. I can carry you down. Tim takes all the pictures. Everybody’s happy.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Barb muttered with a warning glare before nudging forward gently, sliding her arms over Jason’s shoulders and closing them just above his chest. Jason’s arms curled around her thighs instinctively, and just a few seconds later, they were on their way to the foot of the pyramid, with Dick right on their heels. Tim took a moment to push the wheelchair off to the side where a park attendant watched over all the rented bicycles and gave him a quick nod to confirm he would keep an eye on the chair as well, before sprinting after them.

The steps were high, steep, narrow, and uneven, and Tim was grateful for all the balancing training Bruce had put each of them through. If he was ever going to be in need of disposing of someone far away from Gotham City, he should probably just send them here with a bottle of scotch and enough pesos to gain entry into the park. All around him, people shot them disbelieving glances as Dick practically raced up the stairs, while Jason climbed slow but steady, seemingly not the least bothered by the additional weight on his back. He caught up with them just before the very top and the sight that unfolded in front of him took his breath away.

It was one thing overlooking a concrete jungle from the top of a building made with concrete and steel ten years ago. It was another looking over a real jungle from the top of a building made of hand-worked stone more than a _thousand_ years ago. From up here, the people at the foot of the pyramid looked like ants, the slopes looked even steeper than before, and the green of the jungle seemed to stretch on forever and ever, an endless sea of viridian, brown, and gray under a baby blue sky with massive, fluffy white clouds that cast enormous shadows on the trees below.

“Wow.” For a few moments, that was all his brain could manage. He reached for the camera almost automatically and started snapping a massive panorama. “This place is _beautiful._..”

“It’s amazing!” Barb agreed and the smile on her face made the sun look pale. It made him wonder how he had not immediately jumped in and supported Jason’s plan when he had first suggested it. He wanted to kiss his little brother. With a quick laugh, Dick sat down by his feet.

“Sure is pretty up here. Totally worth the quick work-out.”

In his sitting position, Dick was lined up perfectly with the horizon. The idea came to Tim in an instant.

“Hey, guys, sit down by the corner over there,” he pointed towards the right side of the pyramid’s front face. “I’m gonna take a picture.”

“Group shot!”

Dick was on it in a second, quickly claiming his place with his legs spread out in front of him. Tim watched as Jason sat Barbara down in front of Dick, right into a tight hug that had her break into giggles, before coming back to Tim and stretching out his hand.

“Give me the camera. I’ll take that picture for you.”

“No way.” Tim deliberately put it out of reach quickly. “It’s a family group shot, Jason, and you’re part of the family. If we take that picture, it’s gonna include all of us.”

Jason frowned. “You know I hate people taking pictures of me.”

“I know.” It wasn’t even just because of the scar. Tim knew. He had heard Alfred and Dick talk about Jason’s severe case of camera shyness often enough. Of course, the brand was not helping. His first instinct would have been to go for a hug. Instead, Tim went for the safer ‘arm on shoulder’ option. “I know you don’t like it, Jason. But please? For Barb? Just one picture? Feel free to look anywhere you want and hide that scar as much as you like, but we’d all appreciate it if you were in the shot. Please?”

Sometimes miracles happened. He watched quietly, tensed to the max, as Jason looked back and forth between the camera and Dick and Barb, before quietly trotting off to kneel by Dick’s right side. His eyes were fixated on Barb’s hair, and the angle hid the scar almost completely. With a quick nod, Tim approached the nearest tourist – a local man with his two young children – and explained the situation to him. The father nodded, grabbed the camera and waited for Tim to get in position, mirroring Jason’s pose to achieve some semblance of symmetry, before hitting the shutter release twice.

Tim reclaimed the camera with a quick nod and many thanks, before returning to the others and showing off the pictures. Without any context, they looked just like a normal family, not like four vigilantes, one of whom was paraplegic and another of whom was scarred and damaged from head to toe. Behind their backs, the jungle stretched on for hundreds of miles.

“Wow!” Dick sounded honestly impressed. “I want copies of that. I’m gonna print it in poster size and hang it on my wall.”

“Same,” Barb agreed. “I am so glad I did not stay down there.”

“Well, I hate to spoil the mood,” Jason was back on his feet instantly. “But we still do need to get _down there_ again.”

“I’ve got it!” He watched as Dick switched places, getting in front of Barb and locking her into another piggyback grab. “Let’s impress those folks some more and skip down these steps like it’s a cakewalk.”

“If your skipping ends with either one of you breaking some bones, I’m not visiting either of you in the hospital,” Tim warned. Dick only laughed. He pranced down the steps in little skips that made Barb’s ponytail jump and Tim’s heart right along with it. He knew Dick was the most sure-footed one of all of them, but he had buried enough family in recent years to last him for a decade at least.

“Show-boating idiot...” Jason followed them quietly, with the same methodical sense of direction he had had going up the pyramid. All round his two brothers, tourists ascending and descending the pyramid glared at them in a mixture of utter perplexion, sheer horror, and unveiled envy. One particularly outraged mother of three in her fourties – and hailing from Missouri, if Tim’s knowledge of accents did not betray him – was soon spouting every colorful, not-quite religious curse word in her vocabulary at the three of them, while tugging on her son’s arm to keep him from trying to follow in their footsteps. Who knew that there were so many perfectly non-sinful alternatives for the word’s ‘hell’ and ‘damn’?

By the time he reached the ground, Dick had already placed Barb in her wheelchair once more and was rolling back and forth on his heels, clearly resisting the urge to cartwheel and back flip around the place. Two nights without patrol had left him itching for exercise, and at no point did that become clearer than as they returned to the main crossroad so they could continue on the southern road to the Macanxoc Group.

Unfortunately, ‘road’ was hardly an appropriate word for it. Where the previous paths had been so well-travelled the ground may as well have been made of concrete, and some of the more important stretches had even been paved, the southern road was still partly lost to the wild. Tim tried to suppress uncomfortable memories of what Poison Ivy could have and on occasion had done to innocent people with vines and roots like the ones covering the ground, as they tried to find the most wheelchair-friendly path along the trail to the ruins. It was a hard enough task without having Dick jumping from root to root and swinging from low-hanging twig to low-hanging twig as if he were ready to climb up into the tree tops and become Tarzan any minute. It certainly made Tim infinitely grateful to have Jason along, who seemed to channel his inner Bruce as he scowled at Dick’s over-energetic enthusiasm in between sharp scoldings. Granted, he combined the stabs with language colorful enough to have earned a thousand death glares from Bruce, but that was neither surprising nor truly infuriating. As a matter of fact, Tim found he had gotten used to it to the point where it became almost endearing.

He was also not surprised to find Dick practically shimmy through a particularly impressive arrangement of roots, trunks, and vines. Jason stood by idly just a few feet off to the side, frowning at the sight in front of him.

“Ladies and gentlemen: prove that men really did evolve from apes.”

“At least _I’m_ having fun!”

Dick stuck out his tongue at him. Half a second later, a shutter clicked softly and Tim turned around to spot one of the paparazzi who had trailed them in Chichen Itza shooting pictures of the nearby foliage as if he were just another tourist. Jason’s scowl darkened.

“I’m gonna punch the mother—“

“Don’t.” Just like that, the wide, toothy grin was gone from Dick’s face. “He is not worth it, Jay.”

“Maybe not to you and your extroverted ass,” Jason lobbed back at him, “but I’m getting sick and tired of these fuckers.”

“He. Is Not. Worth it.” Dick insisted. For a moment, it looked as if Jason was fully intending to punch Dick, rather than the guy with the camera.

In the end, Jason simply turned and left for the southern ruins.

***

They had returned to Tulum just past noon, and this time there had been no light-hearted banter, no excited discussion of plans for the next day. Jason’s mood had been sour, to put it mildly, and after two failed attempts at improving and lightening up the situation, Dick had resigned himself to playing something that looked like a mixture of Candy Crush and Scrabble on his phone. Barb had been reading, while Tim had fidgeted with his camera, pondering what the coming days would bring. This time, Jason had not joined them for the evening at the beach, nor for dinner. When they had gone to check on him in his cabin, it was as if he had never been there, except for the bag next to his bed.

Part of Tim had wished he had just let Jason have his way and sock the stupid paparazzo in the face.

They got up early again the next morning. He nearly stumbled over the car keys that had been left inside his door and the message was clear: Jason was not going to join them today.

With every hour that passed, the thought turned sadder.

The ruins of Tulum were a paradise, guarded by a ramp at the entrance of the ecological trail through the historic site that might as well have been designed by Satan himself, at least for a wheelchair user. Once she had ascended to the top, Barb gave a long, hard glare back at the incline.

“Can you imagine anyone who does not have my kind of daily workout get up here without help?”

“No,” Tim said, “and I would really rather not stand here thinking about it. We have ten minutes until sunrise.”

And that was the entire reason they had come here at seven in the morning, before all the tour busses arrived. To Tim’s surprise, the crumbled temples were nonetheless teeming with life. By the time they had reached the winding steps that led down to the small, idyllic stretch of beach between the Castillo and the Temple of the Wind God, Tim had counted – and photographed – no less than sixteen iguanas, two snakes, and a red panda, which had not seemed to get the memo that he was technically quite literally on the wrong side of the planet for a member of his species.

Now, the sky was beginning to turn from almost black to faded blue quickly. The clouds were starting to gain a pink tint, grazed ever so slightly by the first slither of sunlight that rose above the horizon and cast a warm light onto the temple.

“Dear god, this place is beautiful!”

Barb leaned forward in her chair, propping her arms between her knees and her chin, while Dick leaned on a nearby railing. It was not a complete picture, but Tim was nothing if not realistic. He knew that this was as good as it was going to get today. He let the shutter click closed with a loud snap and was not surprised to find Dick looking up with a sudden frown on his face.

“Relax, Dick. It’s just me.”

“Right now,” Dick argued. “I bet you twenty bucks that bastard from yesterday is gonna pop up sometime while we’re here.”

‘Sometime’ ended up being within less than an hour. Tim frowned as he caught the quick flicker of sunlight reflected by the camera halfway through their private tour. It seemed they had caught one of the smart ones – one of the ‘true professionals’, who knew when to fall behind, when to catch up, and when to pull the trigger. He wondered which tabloid he would end up selling the pictures to and just how much photoshopping time would go into making all of them look as tired and generally unhealthy as possible.

For the first time since they had set out on this vacation, Tim found himself glancing repeatedly at the back mirror of their van, as they headed back to the city for lunch. The waiter at their usual restaurant eyed their early arrival with a mixture of bewilderment and concern, but quickly regained his composure. Another hour later, they were on their way back to the resort.

To Tim’s surprise, they were not the first ones to arrive.

Jason was sitting beneath the same palm tree he and Barbara had claimed for themselves on their first evening in this town. A wide array of screws, nuts, and bolts, as well as tiny pieces of metal and wire, a pair of pliers, and two cutters littered the towel in front of him.

“This does not look like a picnic.” Dick said with mild concern.

“No,” Tim agreed. “Actually it looks very much like a miniature bomb.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at that. “Don’t be ridiculous, replacement. If I wanted to blow this place up, I could have done it within an hour of us getting here.”

“That’s comforting to know, _jackass_.”

The look Barb gave both of them was one of murder, but it didn’t matter. It had been a while since he and Jason had called each other by derogatory nicknames. The fact that Jason had not seemed to use it in jest was concerning, to say the least.

“So...” Dick sat down on the other side of the towel, reached for one of the metal disks, and promptly got himself a slap on the hand for it. “Whatcha building?”

“A surprise.”

Tim felt dread grow in his gut. ‘Surprise’ was never a good word with Jason.

***

The hours until sunset had crawled by at the pace of a snail, and although Dick and Barb had done their best to improve the mood and spread some cheer, Jason’s secret little DIY project had hung between them like the sword of Damocles itself. He had eventually finished it just before the fading light of the setting sun had become a problem in the assembly and the sight had sent a quick shiver through Barb.

“Seriously, Barb, what the hell has he been building?” Tim whispered in the darkness of their cabin, when the light and sound of day had finally died and the only thing that disturbed the blissful silence of the night was the soft crashing of the waves against the beach on their doorstep. “Please tell me it’s not a bomb.”

“Not of the traditional kind,” Barb said over a quick glance at the wall that faced Jason’s cabin. “I can’t be sure until I’ve taken it apart, but that looked suspiciously like a military-grade, short-range EMP.”

“An EMP?” Tim raised an eyebrow. “What the hell would he need that for? And how did he even—”

He scratched that thought halfway through forming the words to go with it. Jason had been gone for almost an entire day and he had previously spent more than three years leading a secret life as a paramilitary mastermind in South and Central America. If anyone knew how to get the scraps needed to assemble military-grade hardware by hand in a completely unremarkable town such as this one, it would be Jason.

“Tim, hand me the glasses, please.”

 _The glasses..._ Tim shook his head as he retrieved the etui from Barb’s backpack while trying not to fall off the bed. “I’m still wondering just how you managed to smuggle these through security.”

“By telling the truth,” Barbara replied with a grin. “I told them they were a pair of those fancy new smart glasses Wayne Electronics is producing. And they are. Just a different kind of smart.”

“And from a very, very different branch of Wayne Enterprises...”

Thank God these had not been Bruce’s idea. ‘Night Glasses’ sounded a lot less suspicious and a lot more like harmless equipment for late night joggers and workers than ‘Bat Glasses’. He watched her put them on and push the combination of buttons that turned night vision into x-ray vision as she turned to face the wall.

“Jason’s restless.”

That was probably an understatement, although Tim was going to take that as a blessing nonetheless. ‘Jason’s restless’ was a lot better than ‘Jason’s gone’. Particularly on May 21st. The date, and especially the night that came with it, had been forever spoiled for anyone in their family years ago. He was only waiting for the inevitable disaster.

It was just before midnight – around the same time as Jason’s disappearance all those years ago – that he woke from his half-sleep to the sound of screaming. Tim had to give the resort owners credit: every one of the cabins had been designed to be as sound-proof as possible, and they had been spaced out enough to allow for privacy up until a reasonable decibel level.

Unfortunately, all bats had excellent hearing. Even more unfortunately, the sound of Jason howling in panic and agony had drilled itself into his subconscious when they had taken care of him just a few months ago, after Jason had been ambushed by Killer Croc and dragged back to the fear-gas-poisoned Ace Chem factory. There was no way in heaven, hell or earth that he was ever going to forget it.

Through the x-ray vision of the glasses, Tim could see Jason flee from the hut like his life depended on just a whiff of fresh air. His heartbeat and pulse were through the roof and remained so even as his feet ground to halt just in front of the water. He was pacing up and down the beach like a caged animal and the sight was nothing short of heartbreaking. No one should be in that much pain from a simple memory. Least of all his little brother.

By the time Tim had stepped out onto the porch, Dick had already jumped from the doorway of his own cabin and was approaching the shoreline in cautious yet undeterred strides. Tim turned the audio receivers up to maximum to pick up their chatter despite the distance.

“Jason?”

“Go back to bed, _dick_!” Jason snapped at him and the sound was somewhere between a whine and a growl. His arms were wrapped firmly around his torso, even though it was hardly cold outside. _At least not objectively_ , Tim thought as he analyzed his body language from head to toe.

He was walking back and forth tirelessly, putting extra pressure on his right ankle as if to make sure that – yes – the bones were still in one piece and fully functional, and despite the lack of actual chill, his teeth were chattering against each other furiously.

“I’m fine! Just leave me alone.”

“You’re not fine, Jason,” Dick said in the softest, most compassionate voice he could muster. “And if you truly wanted to be alone, you would not be hugging yourself for comfort.”

The look Jason shot him in return was one of utter betrayal and aggression, a defensive mechanism, if Tim had ever seen one. Dick seemed undeterred, standing his ground with his arms stretched out wide, palms up to show he was unarmed.

“And that’s _okay_ , Jason. That’s perfectly _okay_. Anyone in your position would be freaked out. Hell, I’d probably be sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth like some insane horror movie cliché, and bawling my eyes out.”

That was not a lie. As morbid as it was, once Jason’s survival had been known to both of them, Tim and Dick had spent a lot of their joint patrols and stakeouts pondering just how much damage Joker must have dealt to him, and how fast either of them would have cracked.

 _“I would not have lasted a month,”_ Dick had exclaimed once on a particularly slow night. _“I still can’t believe we’ve got him back, but I know I thank the Lord for it every day.”_

“I know you think... feel that you _should_ be alone right now,” Dick continued, still a good length of two arms away from him. “But none of us blame you, Jason. It is _not_ your fault, and you have suffered alone for far too long already, so I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason eyed him with all the suspicion and distrust of a cornered prey animal, but at least he had stopped pacing. “I turned off the tracker and the comms, _Dick_! It was my fault!”

Dick shook his head with a sad smile. “Yeah. It was. Until he shattered your ankle. Every minute ever since: _not your fault, Jaybird._ ”

“You’re lying.” The bark had lost almost all its bite, yet Jason refused to give up. Tim shook his head. Jason’s indomitable determination had always been both a blessing and a curse. “You don’t really believe that.”

“I do, Little Wing.”

It was almost frightening to see how Jason gradually curled in on himself, despite still standing upright. His head hung low, eyes fixated on the water lapping against his bare feet as if his life depended on it. Dick approached him almost like one would a spooked horse, with slow, careful steps and a steady stream of soothing murmurs, reaching out one hand within his direct sight line slowly, rather than charging in for the usual tackle hug that Dick was so fond off.

“It’s ok, Little Wing. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this burden all by yourself anymore. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here for you.”

The change happened so suddenly, Tim felt like he had missed it in the blink of an eye. All of a sudden, Dick’s expertly executed attempt at a gradually advancing embrace was met with a sharp hug by a pair of hands that clung onto Dick’s back for dear life. Dick himself didn’t seem to mind the crushing force in the least as he mirrored the gesture, softer, gentler, and pressed a firm kiss to the mop of disheveled black tresses that now rested on his right shoulder.

The shutter went off with a sharp ‘snap’ and Tim felt disgust curl in his gut as the turned to the right. There, head peeking out of the window of the closer one of the remaining two cabins, was the very same bastard of a paparazzo that had tailed them all the way from Chichen Itza to Tulum.

 _All the way to this place_ , Tim realized with a sudden onslaught of nausea while he watched him continue to snap pictures as Dick and Jason slowly let go of each other just enough to turn a hug into a head bump, before Dick led his little brother back to the beachside bungalow he had fled from. They walked slowly and with the way Dick was still holding on to Jason’s hand – Tim couldn’t blame him for that; there was a good chance Jason would still be tempted to bolt if given half a chance – it was clear how this mothertrucking bastard, this _hyena_ , as Tim’s dad would have classified him, who defiled the title of ‘photographer’, would sell these pictures to the press.

_More than just brothers? Forbidden love among the Wayne heirs! Exclusive pictures of the latest romantic get-away of circus kid turned super-rich and supermodel, Dick Grayson, and cryptic family black sheep, Jason Todd! Read all about it on page two!_

“You okay, Little Wing?”

If Dick had noticed their on-looker – and Tim could not imagine that he hadn’t – he didn’t give a rat’s ass. Jason was the priority. His little brother and his sanity and comfort were the priority.

“I’m tired,” Jason muttered in reply, and Tim could hear that it was true. He sounded completely beat. Tim would not have been surprised if he had been up and awake since Coba.

“Then go to bed,” Dick suggested while guiding him gently to the mattress. “I’ll keep watch in case the nightmares return. I’ll be here for you, Jason.”

“I know.” Despite the acknowledgement, he did not go to bed after all. Instead, Jason dug into the side pocket of his backpack and retrieved a small device that showed up in bright yellow on Tim’s detective vision.

“What is that?”

“A trigger,” Jason explained as he turned the disk over in his hand. “The cabin next to Tim’s... our paparazzo friend from Coba checked in there yesterday afternoon. That thing I was tinkering with earlier? That was an EMP. I stuck it in the straw on top of the guy’s hut before going to bed.” The x-ray mode of his glasses could not pick up facial details that accurately, but Tim could just tell that Jason was smirking one of those downright demonic slasher smiles of his. “Say goodbye to Mr. Fuckwad’s thirty-thousand dollar, high-tech, wifi-enabled super camera.”

The anguished cry of despair followed almost instantly. Tim couldn’t help grinning. As much as he mourned the loss of such a wonderful piece of equipment, it was a small price to pay for not having more Wayne family incest rumors spread across Gotham’s tabloid scene.

“Very smooth, Jay...” Dick chuckled slightly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go remove it right now.”

“No, you—wait!”

Dick was fast, but this time, Jason was faster. He was out of the door in a second, taking a quick, assessing look at the hut in question before approaching with catlike tread and climbing onto the roof. He returned not even ten seconds later, with nobody but the four of them any the wiser. He started disassembling the device even as he moved back into the cabin.

“I swear to God, Jay—“ Dick’s attempt to close the door behind him was quickly met with a stretched-out arm and a sharp spike in Jason’s heart rate.

“Don’t!” Jason’s mouth snapped shut, like a child catching themselves having said something horrendous. “Leave it open, Dick. I don’t want to be anywhere near a closed door tonight. Or a crowbar. Or a trash bag. Or _tiles_.”

“How about bed sheets?” Dick suggested, lifting the top sheet and pointing at the mattress. “Could you do me a favor and at least try to get some sleep?”

Tim had expected at least a bare minimum of arguing. Instead, Jason merely nodded, before rubbing the sand off his feet with a nearby towel and climbing onto the bed. The rational part of Tim’s brain knew that it was likely just exhaustion. The emotional part hoped it was at least a little bit of trust, a little bit of _mending_ , too.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Dick grabbed one of the small chairs from the nearby table, put it right next to the bed, sat down with one leg folded over the other, and started browsing through his phone. It took just a little shy of a minute for Jason to raise his head off the pillow.

“Dick?”

“Yes, Jaybird?”

“Got any books on there?”

“Lots. Want me to read out loud?”

Jason merely nodded. Even after all this time, he still had trouble bringing himself to actually ask for anything, but given that he had been avoiding any private contact with the family like the plague just a year ago, Tim was not going to complain. Neither was Dick, apparently. Tim watched him swipe and tap a few times.

“Ah, there we go! Have you ever read Andersen’s ‘Snow Queen’?”

Jason shook his head. Dick smiled. A moment later, his voice started whispering over the crashing of the waves like a line of spun silver. Jason’s eyes closed.

_“Now then! We will begin. When the story is done you shall know a great deal more than you do know.”_

***

The next morning, Tim woke up late to the sound of sirens and angry shouting. For the first few seconds, the cacophony had barely registered in his brain. He was Robin. Police sirens and angry shouting were half his life.

Then he remembered that he was not in Gotham. He was in Mexico. On vacation. Time off. Not as Robin, but as Tim Drake.

He scrambled off the bed immediately, taking just enough of a break to look around the room and verify that neither he nor Barb were in serious danger – he could hear the shower running – before fishing a set of fresh clothes from his bag and getting dressed. He popped a fresh mint into his mouth and headed for the reception, just this once ditching the wooden walkway for a shortcut through the sand.

Dick was already waiting there when he arrived, and though he looked infinitely more tired than Tim felt, there was a big smile on his face as he wished Tim a good morning. At the reception counter, the miserable excuse of a photographer was arguing with the receptionist and two police officers – a true Mexican standoff.

“Mr. Creepy Paparazzo Stalker over there complained to the manager,” Dick muttered under his breath, keeping his lips expertly still. “Said somebody sabotaged his equipment and made it go boom. Can you image?!” Dick pressed his hand to his heart passionately. “The poor man lost all of yesterday’s pictures!”

“No!” It took Tim every ounce of self-control to keep the smirk off his face and the glee out of his voice. “Who on earth would do such a horrible thing?”

“I don’t know,” Dick shrugged his shoulders. “So far, he’s been blaming everyone from the manager, to the kids, to the family cat, and—oh, here we go. Poker face, bro.”

“YOU!” The indignation in the man’s voice as he stomped towards them was only matched in intensity by the redness of his puffy face. “You did this!” He turned to the police immediately. “I demand that you arrest these men for damaging my property! Those photos were worth tens of thousands of dollars!”

“What photos?” Tim raised an eyebrow. This time, he let Dick do the talking. His older brother slipped into the role of the honest, perfectly clueless tourist with practiced ease, explaining in deliberately broken Spanish how they had never met this man before, let alone had any access to whatever fancy-schmancy equipment he had brought with him. Upon the man’s fervent insistence, the two officers went ahead and inspected his house, but found no sign of foul play. When his demand to inspect the other huts was met with a stern ‘no’ from both officers, shit finally hit the fan.

“THEY BROKE MY PROFESSIONAL EQUIPMENT, YOU MORONS! WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENED TO THIS CAMERA, HUH?”

He held the offending piece of woefully dead electronics in front of them.

“DO YOU THINK IT JUST UP AND BROKE ON ITS OWN?”

“It’s entirely possible,” Tim argued, before marching off to retrieve his own Nikon from his cabin. A quick look through the glasses told him that Barb was sitting with Jason, undoubtedly doing her best to keep him from joining the shouting match that was going on outside. He presented the camera to the crowd and brought up its user interface with the thermal indicators.

“Cameras are highly sensitive equipment. Mexico, especially this coast, is very sandy, salty, and hot, none of which is good for electronics. See that display here? The number’s yellow. That means the core temperature of the camera’s processor is at elevated levels already, and I only just switched it on. If you used your camera all day, like you said, it’s entirely impossible it was just a short-circuit thanks to overheating that killed your equipment.”

“Over-heating?!!!”

That finally did it. Tim feigned horror and distress as his accuser started hurling one vile insult after the other, first at Tim, then at his family, then at the cops who tried to calm him down. It was the clumsy swing that Tim easily avoided that broke the camel’s back. Cuffs clicked, rights were recited, and a few seconds later the flailing man was being dragged off the premises by two cops who were clearly not paid enough to put up with shit like this.

Tim sighed as he watched them disappear into the front building. “You know, I almost feel sorry for him. Mexican holding cells can’t be comfortable.”

“I couldn’t care less,” Dick lobbed back, the easy charm on his face having made way instantly for utter disgust and annoyance. “Bastard can rot in there for all I care. Let’s check on Jay and Barb.”

They found them sitting beneath the palm tree, on a blanket littered with snacks and disassembled pieces of the EMP device. Barb was wide awake and looked the part, too. Jason seemed alert, but the fatigue running underneath it all was obvious. The tiny blade Jason was using to take the EMP apart looked suspiciously like a mini-batarang. Tim raised an eyebrow.

“How did you get that through airport security?”

“Same way Barb got through with a pair of batarangs in the seat and an escrima stick in each armrest. Only in my case it was a half-gutted tablet with a lining of modified optic deflection armor.”

“You are both nuts,” Dick said as he plopped down on the right side of the towel with a silly grin on his face. “So, any plans for today?”

“No more sight-seeing,” Barb said over a quick sigh. “I just want to relax for those last two days. Go swimming... maybe even get a tan...”

Tim scoffed. Barb was just as light-skinned as he was. It would be a miracle if she were to get anything but the same painful lobster red he was wearing on his shoulders.

Still, it did sound like a good plan.

***

He did spend the rest of their vacation at the beach, alternating between games of beach volleyball with Dick, quick dips into the water, matches of backgammon against Barbara, which he lost almost as often as he won them, and quick breaks to get more snacks and refreshments from their cabins as the hours rolled by. The fact that Jason was either working out in the privacy of his hut or asleep in the shadow of the palm tree for most of it left his gut in knots.

On the one hand, he _was_ asleep, right next to the rest of them no least, which was a miracle and a testimony to how much he had come to trust them over the last year on pure principle. Given Dick’s report of just how much of a rough night Jason had had, it was also probably for the better that he remained curled up in the warmth and freshness of the Riviera Maya’s seaside air, rather than pretending to power through Monday and Tuesday as if nothing had happened.

On the other hand, it was all too telling that Jason spent what little breaks he took merely eyeing Dick’s aquatic excursions with a tinge of unveiled envy in his eyes, while slapping more sunscreen onto his face and hands. The rest of him remained fully covered, despite the heat and despite Dick’s and Barbara’s numerous attempts to convince him otherwise. They had eventually managed to talk him into ditching his socks and shoes, but even that experience had bordered in pleasantness on the pulling of teeth.

The sun was already setting on Tuesday evening and they were just about to head off for one last dip in the sea, when Barbara finally decided that it was time to go all in.

“Have fun, guys. I’m not joining.”

“Why the hell not?” Dick looked at her dumbfounded. “You do know it’s our last day, right?”

“I do.” She merely shrugged her shoulders. “I’m staying right here with Jason.”

“Don’t.” Jason scowled at her over the half-finished cup of fresh mango chops in his hand. “You’ve been eyeing the water like you want to die in it all day. Go and have some fun.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“You don’t get it, Barb.”

“So explain.”

Predictably, that earned her an angry scowl. Jason had always been quick to any and all displays of emotion, but it was the scarring on his face that had not been there before that really took it up to eleven.

“What’s there to fucking explain, Barb? I am covered in scars from head to toe. _No one_ wants to see that. Not you, not me, not whoever fucking else happens to pass by.”

Barbara did not even flinch. “Jason, this is a private beach. We are the only guests. Tim bought up the other two cabins for tonight to make sure of that. Three of the owners have left for a birthday party, the other one is working reception. Dick doesn’t care about your scars. Tim does not care about your scars. I certainly don’t care about your scars. Have you seen anyone glare at the drill scars on your feet over the last twelve hours? No. You know what we do care about? That you clearly, desperately want to go for a swim because it looks like fun in there. You _deserve_ to have some fun, Jason.”

“I second that,” Dick agreed. “And I think Barb’s making a good point. I’m staying, too.”

“Isn’t blackmail illegal, _Officer_ Grayson?”

“I got fired, remember?”

“Good.”

Tim couldn’t help but chuckle at the picture in front of him. This was either going to end in a shouting match with horrible noodle incident references, or with Jason and Dick beating the crap out of each other.

“It’s not blackmail, Jason. It’s called empathy. Believe it or not, Dick has it.”

“Well, good for him.” Jason nearly stuck out his tongue at them. Instead he turned his head to face the sea once more. The reflection of the setting sun was starting to glimmer like liquid gold on the water. “I’m still not going. Never did, never will.”

“Never did?” Tim raised an eyebrow as he sat down slowly. He had the distinct feeling this was going to be a conversation best had on eye level. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Sitting by the sea, wanting to go in there, but unable to go through with it.” The silence he received in return was all the answer he needed. Tim sighed deeply. “When, Jason?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Tim insisted. “If you really don’t want to go, I will respect your decision, but I want to know why at least.”

Jason remained silent for a long time. By the time he ditched the mango chops and started wringing his hands instead, the sun was already touching the horizon.

“Santa Prisca.” He took a deep breath. “When I escaped, I... I got onto the first ship out of Gotham and I ended up in Santa Prisca. Got myself some cash and a couple of fake IDs. Stayed in a hotel until I had gotten over the starvation, at least. I had a sea view window. Spent every night thinking about going for a swim.”

Tim mulled that over in his head and bit his lip. What he was about to say now would either make or break this deal. “And how many times have you spent thinking ‘damn, I wish I had’ ever since?”

Jason closed his eyes, then looked straight at Tim. “Run along, Timbers. I didn’t even bring any swimwear.”

“Did you bring a spare set of pants?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I’m not going swimming in my cargo pants, _Dick_.”

“Fine.” Dick stuck out his tongue. “But I’m gonna go swimming in my jeans.”

He was running off before either one of them could stop him and returned only a minute later in his usual blue denim. Barb gave him a wry smile.

“If I am not mistaken, that _is_ your last set of good pants.”

“So?” Dick merely shrugged. “I wore Hawaiian print on the way here, I can damn well wear Hawaiian print on the way back. Ain’t the worst thing you’ve ever seen me wear.”

“Definitely not.”

That, they could all agree on. Tim watched silently as Dick stretched out his hand.

“So... are you coming, Little Wing?”

Sometimes miracles did happen. In this case, the miracle consisted of Jason ditching his shirt and getting up slowly, inching closer to the shoreline with every little guiding step Dick took in front of him. This time, it was Tim’s turn to let Barbara piggy-back, and Tim trailed behind his two brothers carefully. Yes, the scars were ugly. Yes, he hated looking at them, but the hate was directed entirely at the monster that had put them there. In the end, it didn’t matter.

In the end, what mattered was that the shudder that went through their little brother as his feet touched the water was followed almost immediately by all the tension in his muscles slowly uncoiling from his body as he went deeper into the sea. Tim followed swiftly, and soon enough all four of them were bobbing slightly amongst the warm waves, one last glorious taste of the tropics.

However much grief had come to them over the last days, as far as Tim was concerned, this moment had been worth all of it.

***

Their departure the next morning started with a quick scare as they found Jason’s cabin empty, tidy and clean as if he had never been there, and the car gone from the resorts parking lot. Barb had just been about to call his cell when Jason had returned, shrugging at their concerned faces with a muttered ‘couldn’t miss the sunrise at the ruins’. Thankfully, Dick relieved him of the duty of having to say ‘leave a note next time, because you scared the crap out of us’.

The breakfast was delicious, the checkout uncomplicated. The road back to the airport was nearly empty. Perhaps the patron saint of travelers really was smiling on them, because the flight was on time as well, arriving at Gotham International just shy of three in the afternoon. They split up just outside the security check and made their individual ways home for a quick nap before patrol. Tim did not even want to think about what kind of crap had been happening throughout the week in Gotham and Blüdhaven. The plan was simple: brush teeth, shower, go to bed.

Of course, he just had to mess it all up by interjecting ‘copy photos onto cloud drive’ in between these three perfectly doable steps.

The alarm on the facial recognition software he was using to track material published about either of their real or vigilante identities went off while he was brushing his teeth and watching the progress bar on the copy process move forward.

It was a lengthy article from the _Gotham Herald_ , talking about the sudden, mysterious vacation of the Wayne heirs, and featuring a dozen pictures which finally gave a name to the insufferable leech that had been following them around: Boyd Kendrick Thomson. Fortunately, the latest pictures were from their morning trip to the ruins of Tulum.

Unfortunately, he had been right: each of the pictures had been Photoshopped to hell and gone. All of them – even Dick with his perfect bronze tan – looked pale enough to be unhealthy and the way he had manipulated the lighting and shading of the pictures, Barb looked like she had gained twenty pounds.

He followed the link at the bottom of the page to Thomson’s blog and felt bile rise up in his throat.

The latest post was a threat of a lawsuit. The one below that was a very long, detailed outcry about the injustice that had been done to poor Mr. Thomson, which reminded Tim far too much of Ryder’s self-aggrandizing articles about his time in Arkham City. Beneath it was a detailed description of the scene he had witnessed on the night of the 21st, just before his camera went kablooey.

“Whatever happened to ‘be in bed in five minutes’?” Barb asked as she rolled up to him in her pyjamas.

“This.” He shuffled to the side to let her have a look at the page. “He thinks he can play the Photoshop game? I’ll show him Photoshop.”

He made sure to include proper citations and links as he integrated the relevant pictures into an article on his own photography blog. Digging up pictures from his own camera that showed pretty much almost exactly the same scenes without any filters was painstaking, since he had not yet had a chance to properly rename them, but this was a matter of pride.

An hour later, it was finally done. The difference between each set of pictures was frighteningly immense and he had made sure to include detailed explanations for every alteration done. Somehow, it didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as he had thought it would. He re-read the paparazzo’s article once more and ended up face-palming harder than Picard. Of course it wasn’t satisfying yet. He had missed the most important part. With a quick sigh, Tim added one more additional paragraph to the text.

 _“I know Mr. Thomson wanted to paint this vacation I took with my siblings as some twisted tale of forbidden ‘tru luv’ between siblings, but honestly? The only thing that is true love about this photoshopped mess of a picture set of his is how I much I enjoyed it when his 30k camera stopped working one morning, after he had stalked us to a_ private _resort just to spin some ‘secret incestuous relationship amongst the Wayne brothers’ yarn. Karma is a bitch.”_

The feeling of satisfaction finally settled in and he decided to go to bed before it completely disappeared. When he woke up again five hours later and checked his phone out of pure habit, his brain ground to a halt.

His latest blog article had gained more than fifty-thousand likes already and about half the amount in re-blogs and re-tweets. #TrueLove was trending, with hundreds of brothers and sisters sharing their own stories of how their simple displays of platonic affection were commonly twisted into something that made them want to hurl. Among all the posts in his combined social media feed, three stood out in particular.

The first came from Dick’s twitter, which included exactly one new post, and it was a re-tweet of a picture by one Stella Ikin that featured a picture of Dick in his Hawaiian floral print shirt, sinking into his flight seat like a homeless drunk into a subway corner, with his hair sticking up in all kinds of odd angles. Tim cursed quietly. He had hoped they had gotten rid of this before publication, but apparently not. Ms. Ikin had accompanied his picture with a scathing rant about her unfair treatment aboard the plane. Dick had re-tweeted it with the words:

_True love is when your brother defends your horrendous style choices._

The second post belonged to Barbara’s Facebook, where she regularly posted her experiences trying to cope with paraplegia as an encouragement to fellow wheelchair users. She had chosen that picture of her smiling at Jason as he carried her towards the pyramid of Coba. Beneath the photo, Barb’s comment was as short as it was honest:

_True love is when your brothers take turns carrying your paraplegic butt up and down Mayan ruins all day._

The third alert included another picture on Barb’s account, this time a re-post from an account that Tim had never heard of before, and that alone set off the alarm bells in his head. The picture itself turned his gut to ice.

It was a selfie of a young man in his late teens, who could best be described as a typical douchebag with all the horrible style choices and none of the physique, and his girlfriend, who could have lend her make-up buried face to the Urban Dictionary entry of the word ‘cheap’. In the background, the sun was setting on waves crashing peacefully against a very quiet beach. And on a young man with too many scars on his body, who was submerged below the waist. Even though he could only be seen from the back, Tim would have recognized him anywhere and the thought had him backtrack immediately. There had been three fences and a thick mass of greenery between the part of the beach that belonged to their resort and the surrounding area. How had they even--?

Below the picture, the original poster’s comment stood out like a sore thumb.

_Stumbled onto this hidden beach like something straight out of paradise. Nearly broke my legs trying to get great sunset pic with my girl only to have it photo bombed by this ugly cocksucker in the background. Thanks a lot, asshole._

Tim wanted to break this bastard.

 _“There are four kinds of paparazzi_ ,” his father had explained once, “ _and the ones you’ll learn to hate the most are the elephants. They grab your picture by sheer accident, and then they just trample all over it without thinking about any of the damage they’ll do. Clueless idiots are the most dangerous idiots.”_

His father had been right. Absolutely clueless. Zero tact. And a worst case combination of photo subject. Tim was still trying to figure out what to do about it, when he skimmed the comments on sheer auto-pilot and noticed that even half of Mr. Douchebag’s friends were happy to point out what an utter moron he was. However, it was the latest set of comments that really caught his eye.

_Barb Dragon Fort: Someone is very jealous of all those muscles and totally not compensating._

_NotADick: he ain’t ugly. just wait until you see your girl without makeup._

_GoB: 1) That strip of beach is private property. You were not stumbling. You were trespassing._

_GoB: 2) You lack any semblance of manners._

_GoB: 3) Those scars are not ugly. They are the mark of a survivor._

_RedJ: Guess #TrueLove is when no one cares about your scars. Not even the resident family jerk._

Tim let his head fall back against his pillow and laughed.

Sometimes, all the stars aligned, rainbows formed over a field of four-leaved clovers littered with horse shoes, and miracles actually happened. As far as Tim was concerned, he was witness to a miracle in progress.


End file.
